


You Asked

by chellefic



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: First Time, Fisting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 02:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7871752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chellefic/pseuds/chellefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos, Duncan, a conversation, some sex, more conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Asked

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Kamil.

Duncan shifted in his seat, trying again to get comfortable. He glanced around the bar. It was a quiet night, not that he'd expected it to be lively on a Tuesday. But he had expected to spend some time talking with his friends. However, Joe was at the end of the bar chatting with an attractive female customer, had been all evening, and Methos-Methos was reading. In a bar. Duncan wanted to be annoyed at his friend for ignoring him all evening in favor of a book, but the truth was that he was more amused than anything else.

"Whatever it is, it must be fascinating."

Methos answered without looking up. "Not quite fascinating, more intriguing."

"World of difference. Fascinating, intriguing, not remotely the same."

"Exactly."

"What are you reading about?" Duncan asked, after several more minutes had passed.

"Fisting." Methos still didn't look up.

"What?" Methos wasn't just reading in a bar; he was reading about kinky sex in a bar. Duncan took a long drink of his whiskey. Only Methos.

"Fisting. Surely, you've heard of it, Mac. The insertion of one's fist into another person's—"

"I've heard of it."

Methos glanced up at him. "Ever tried it?"

Typical Methos, ask an intimate question as though you're asking if the person ever ate snails, which wasn't that odd a question in Paris. "No."

"Me neither, but I'm thinking about it."

'Thinking about it?' Duncan thought; this he had to hear. "Why?"

"I'm bored. No bad guy's come looking for your head in almost three months, and I can't recall the last time you had a really amusing moral dilemma."

"I'm sorry if my life isn't entertaining enough for you."

"That's alright. I'm pretty good at finding ways to keep myself amused."

"Do they all involve sex?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Obviously. I wouldn't have asked otherwise."

Methos grinned mischievously. "You want to try it with me?"

Want to try it with him? Duncan's mind began to race. Did he want to try it with him? Unable to answer, he stalled. "Fisting?"

"That is what we were talking about."

"I just wanted to be certain before I agreed to anything. I've found that's the safest practice with you." Duncan kept his tone teasing, even as images of a naked Methos spread out before him began to form in his mind's eye.

"Mac, you wound me."

"Uh-huh."

"So, you'll do it?"

The images were making his mouth go dry and Duncan reached for his drink. "But Methos, we aren't…we haven't…"

"You may not have noticed, but I'm rather short of lovers at the moment." The teasing tone disappeared, replaced with an utterly serious one. "Besides, you're the only person I trust enough to do this."

Making it about trust, that wasn't playing fair, and the old man knew it. "Okay," Duncan heard himself say. "When do you want to get together?"

"When's good for you?"

"Tomorrow evening?" Duncan downed the remainder of his whiskey, hoping Methos wouldn't notice his nervousness.

"My place or yours?"

"Mine." He wouldn't be able to leave if things got to be too much, but they'd be in his space, and Duncan was fairly certain he was going to need familiar surroundings. "I'll make dinner."

"Great. I'll bring the supplies." Supplies? Duncan suddenly had the feeling that this wasn't going to be as simple as he'd thought. "Is there anything I should read, or…"

"I can just tell you what you need to know, or I can email you a couple of URLs."

"Email me something."

 

Duncan stretched out on the couch, book in hand. Dinner was as ready as he could make it. The vegetables were chopped and the rice was steamed. All he needed was for Methos to arrive and he'd throw together the stir fry.

Methos had sent the URLs the night before, and Duncan had read through the information, more than once. He'd spent most of the day imagining what it would be like to put that information to use, with Methos. His every thought about the man had become lascivious, and ever since last night, most of his thoughts were about Methos. In an effort to get comfortable, he'd changed out of his jeans and into sweats hours earlier. He'd gotten a brief respite while chopping vegetables, but now the hard-on was back. Impatient, demanding, and wanting to know where the hell Methos was. It was just like Methos to make him want something he'd never considered before, and then make him wait.

Not that he hadn't considered sex with Methos before, he had, and he'd decided against it. He had always assumed that Methos had reached similar conclusions, because he hadn't been the only one working to tone down the sexual tension in their relationship.

Until last night.

One word. Fisting. That was all it took. One word, and all the tension was back, and then some.

Except this time he had chosen to give in to it. Methos, friend that he was, had even given him a convenient excuse. It wasn't about sex. It was about trust. They were going to do this because he was the one person Methos trusted enough to be that vulnerable with. If his hard-on insistently proclaimed otherwise, well, what did it know?

An annoying tickling at the back of his head interrupted his thoughts. Methos was here. Adjusting himself slightly, he stood to greet his guest just as the door opened.

 

Dinner was a quiet affair, during which they both focused primarily on finishing off the bottle of wine Methos had brought. Duncan hadn't inquired about the contents of the other bag Methos had brought. It was currently sitting on the table behind his sofa. It was plastic, and it bore the name of a local pharmacy.

Methos was putting away the wok and Duncan watched him bend over, not even registering that Methos didn't need to ask where it went.

The last of the dishes dried and put away, Methos tossed the dish towel onto the counter, before turning and smiling at Duncan. "Shall we retire to the couch?"

Duncan nodded, following his guest. Usually Methos got the couch to himself, and Duncan took a chair, but tonight he sat next to the other man. Right next to him. Almost on top of him. Methos didn't say a word.

They passed several minutes in awkward silence. It didn't take long before Duncan gave in to the need to talk.

"Do you want preliminaries?" he asked, almost stumbling over the last word.

Methos squinted at him for an instant, and then his eyes widened. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Okay."

More silence. What was Methos waiting for? This was his idea. Shouldn't he make the first move?

"Duncan?"

Finally. "Yeah?"

"How preliminary do you want to be?"

"Umm. I don't know. Kissing?"

"Kissing's good. I like kissing."

"Me too."

"I always kinda thought you would."

"Why?"

"It's that mouth. It just screams sensuality."

"It does?"

"Yeah. Don't pretend you didn't know."

"Well, uh, I…"

Methos gave him a stern look.

"Okay, maybe I knew," Duncan admitted.

"Nothing wrong with knowing," Methos said with a smile.

"So, should we?"

"Now's as good a time as any."

Duncan turned to face the man beside him, and the erection, which had been surprisingly non-existent most of the evening, returned full force. 'Oh, for chrissakes, we haven't even done anything yet,' he scolded it silently. Its reply was perfectly predictable, 'Then get to it, already.' Briefly, Duncan wondered if talking to one's cock was a sign of encroaching senility.

In truth, he knew exactly what it was: a way to avoid thinking about the lips just inches from his own; the heat leaving Methos' body in waves; and the smell of him, the unmistakable, masculine smell now filling his nose, and lungs, and inflating his cock still further.

He leaned forward. Methos leaned forward. It wasn't quite enough, and Duncan leaned a little closer. Then it happened, his lips connected with Methos'. The world didn't end. It didn't even turn upside down, or inside out. But it did get just a little bit sweeter, and just a little bit lovelier.

Methos' lips were firm, and that firmness pressed against his own lips did delightful things to the nerve endings there. They teased and tasted, taking their time, and when they parted, Duncan was smiling, widely.

Methos chuckled.

"What?"

"You look so pleased."

"Aren't you?"

"I am, but I don't look like a little boy who's managed to find all of the Easter eggs."

"You have eggs?"

"Not quite. Although I have something similar in size."

"Really?"

"Very different in feel though. No hard shell. But they do require delicate handling."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"My thoughtful Highlander."

"Do you know what I'm thinking now?"

"That we should stop talking and get on with it."

"You do read minds."

"One of my many talents."

"Like kissing."

"Think I have talent in that area, do you?"

"I haven't decided yet. We need to kiss more first."

"Now you've given me something to prove." Methos wrapped an arm around Duncan's neck, pulling him close. Then they were kissing again, long, involved kisses that were more apt to leave them panting than smiling.

Hands began to explore, almost of their own accord, learning the shape of backs and shoulders, and chests. Buttons were opened, and fingers found skin.

Duncan captured Methos' lower lip, sucking it in time with the motion of the fingertips he was brushing across a nipple.

Methos groaned softly, arching his entire body back in offering.

It was an offering Duncan wanted, desperately. He nipped at the other man's neck, and then released him. "Get undressed." He rose and snagged the bag from the table before continuing into the bathroom.

Coming back into the main room, he went to the bed and spread a couple of towels across it. No point in covering the duvet with lube. He dropped the bag beside the bed, and looked in Methos' direction.

Methos was walking toward him, and he was naked. Duncan inhaled sharply at the sight, his arousal ratcheting upward several more notches.

Methos stopped in front of him, and Duncan reached out to rest a hand on his hip. He also leaned in for another kiss. He'd intended it to be brief, but Methos parted his lips and Duncan couldn't resist diving in for a fuller taste. Every kiss was better than the one before it, and Duncan wondered how good they'd get if they ever decided to take this up on a regular basis.

"Get on the bed." He said the words next to Methos' ear, in a low voice.

"Okay," Methos answered brightly before climbing onto the towels, Duncan had spread out.

Duncan shook his head slightly, and knelt on the bed. He ran a hand up the inside of Methos' leg, pausing mid thigh to rub his fingertips back and forth. "Comfortable?"

Methos nodded. "Quite. You'll never get me to sleep on the couch again."

"We'll see. I can be very persuasive." Duncan smiled. "Ready?"

"Might as well get started."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic."

"I'm enthusiastic."

"Okay." Duncan undid the last two buttons on his shirt, the only ones Methos hadn't opened, and removed it. He left on his pants, afraid he might find himself humping Methos' leg if he took them off.

"Putting on a show for me?"

"Not tonight."

"Does that mean you will sometime?"

"You want me to strip for you?"

"Why not? You dance well."

"I don't think so."

"You don't think you dance well?"

"You know what I meant." Duncan reached for the bag, and opened the package of latex gloves, stretching one over his right hand. Then he opened one of the tubes of lubricant. Methos had brought two, but then, the directions he'd read suggested that the only proper way to do this was with so much lube that it was dripping off of the ceiling. He covered his hand liberally, making sure the knuckles, in particular, were covered.

Methos watched him, eyes a bit wider than usual.

"Lay back, Methos."

Methos lay back, and Duncan took his cock in his ungloved hand, stroking it lightly. He paused to pick up the tube of lubricant again, and squirted some onto Methos' opening.

"Hey, that's cold."

"It'll warm up."

"Sadist."

Duncan ignored him, concentrating instead on spreading the gel with his fingertips.

Methos inhaled sharply, and spread his legs as far apart as he could manage.

"May I slide a finger in?"

Methos nodded.

Duncan pushed past the first ring of muscle. It was tight. No way his entire hand was going to fit in there. He worked his finger in small circles, stroking the walls of Methos' anus, and coating them with lube. Then he began to move his finger slowly, in and out.

"More."

Duncan obligingly slipped a second finger inside. Methos made a welcoming sound, low in his throat. The other man's lips were parted slightly and Duncan couldn't resist them. He stretched out alongside Methos, and claimed those lips with his own.

Methos answered him hungrily, clearly wanting the kiss as much as he did. Duncan moved his fingers in time with the movements of his tongue in the other man' mouth. Methos wrapped an arm around his head, pulling him close, and he placed his feet flat on the bed, using them to give him leverage so he could move his hips in time with Duncan's stroking. Methos' entire body was responding to Duncan's rhythm. It was intoxicating.

Methos moaned, and Duncan pulled his fingers almost all the way out so he could add a third. He pushed back in slowly this time. Methos gasped, sending a puff of breath into Duncan's mouth. He slowed the kissing to match the new pace of his fingers, and felt Methos relax into it, answering him at the same leisurely speed.

Methos was completely open to him, spread out for Duncan to enter and tease and caress. At that moment, Duncan couldn't imagine anything more exciting.

He abandoned Methos' mouth in favor of his neck, finding a sensitive place and sucking. He didn't stay there long before leaving and attaching his mouth to a nipple. Methos arched at the contact, thrusting his chest toward Duncan's mouth. How had he gone so long without this?

Methos was relaxing around his fingers, accepting them readily, even eagerly, and, impatient, Duncan added both his last finger and his thumb. His fingers and thumb were pressed together, forming the shape of a beak. He forced himself to go slowly, to gently ease in up to his knuckles, and then pull back. He did it again and again, not pushing the widest part of his hand in.

Duncan had sat back so he could watch what he was doing, wanting to be certain he didn't cause pain. Methos was clutching the towels beneath him, knotting the fabric in his hands.

He pulled his hand all of the way out, and Methos opened his eyes. "More lube," Duncan said softly.

Methos nodded.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"If you need to stop, or slow down, or anything…"

"I'll tell you."

Hand once again dripping with lube, Duncan returned it to its place between Methos' legs.

Methos drew his legs back, knees to his chest.

Duncan's breath caught at the sight, and he wrapped his free hand around Methos' cock, stroking lightly.

"Duncan."

"You have a beautiful cock, Methos. I want to taste it. May I?"

"Yes." The word was more breathed than spoken. "Just—"

"I won't make you come. Not yet."

Methos nodded, and Duncan leaned forward. He reached out with his tongue, lapping at the backside, just beneath the head. Methos' hand tangled in his hair, and pulled him closer. "No teasing, please, no teasing."

No teasing. He could do that. He wanted to do that. Wrapping his mouth around the head of Methos' cock, he sucked gently, simultaneously pushing inward with his fingers. It was the most natural thing in the world, the rhythm he established with his hand and his mouth. He had no idea how long it continued, how long he sucked on Methos' cock, while stroking his fingers and thumb gently inside him. But his mouth was beginning to tire, so he let go and sat back, studying the man in front of him.

Methos' eyes were locked on him, and Duncan reached out with his free hand. Methos raised his own hand and their hands clasped tightly. Methos was breathing in time with his strokes, and as Duncan watched him, his own breath fell into the same pattern.

It was so close, now. His knuckles were almost sliding inside. Almost.

Methos exhaled deeply as Duncan pushed forward, and it happened, his entire hand slipped inside. His fingers curved naturally into a fist, and the ring of muscle at Methos' entrance locked onto his wrist.

They stared at each other, both breathing a great deal more rapidly, now that Duncan had stopped moving his hand.

Methos squeezed the hand he held, and Duncan took it as a request to move. He turned his fist slowly, pushing against the walls holding him tight. Methos groaned, a sound that came from so deep inside him it barely sounded human.

Duncan couldn't tear his eyes away from the place were they were joined. It amazed him, the sight of his arm, going into Methos.

He stopped turning, and began to push forward, gently, carefully.

"Yes, Duncan."

The sound of Methos' voice, filled with vulnerability, saying his name, caused his chest to constrict, quickening his own breathing. He could feel Methos' blood pounding through his veins. The pulse surrounded him, and he could have sworn his own heart had taken up the beat.

He pulled his arm back, almost infinitesimally, and then eased it forward again. He didn't think he'd ever moved this slowly in his life. Hell, he didn't think snails moved this slowly, but it felt so good. He didn't even have to control it. Methos, and the slow movement of their bodies together, were the extent of his world. Everything else had dropped away, even time itself.

Methos' body was telling him what to do, silently directing him with its contractions, and its heat, and its pulse, the pounding that had created an answering pounding in him.

The cock in front of him twitched, and even though his eyes had been locked on Methos' face, he was aware of it. He drew their joined hands downward, pressing the other man's hand to his own cock, and covering it with his own. Together, they began to stroke. Except it wasn't a stroke, not really, not when it was this slow.

His own cock was aching, the ache intensifying and easing in time with the pulse binding them together. Releasing Methos' hand, he pushed down his own pants, letting it spring free. He closed his hand around it, groaning at the contact. He could see the approval in Methos' eyes, and he, too, began to stroke.

It wasn't until afterward that he realized how dangerous it was, what they'd done. Another Immortal could have shown up at that moment and neither of them would have put up a fight. They were too lost, lost in each other and the incredible, pulsing rhythm that was binding them together. Lost in a pleasure that wasn't pleasure, not really. It was something else, something Duncan didn't have the words for, something intimate and profound, and until that evening, entirely outside of Duncan's experience.

It couldn't last forever, nothing could, and Duncan felt the ache growing larger with each pulse, and its accompanying stroke. It was expanding outward from his cock, and simultaneously getting more intense, there, at its origin. One thing would tip the balance now, and send him into orgasm. One thing, and he held on, waiting for it.

Methos' entire body contracted around his fist, and Duncan began to come. He stared as spurt after spurt of fluid left Methos' body, convinced that they were even coming in the same rhythm.

The ache lessened with each pulse, growing more diffuse. He was shaking. After what felt like forever, the come stopped. Nothing else left him, but aftershocks shot through him, making him tremble.

Methos was doing the same. Duncan could feel it. He reconnected their now damp hands, and they breathed together, as the trembling gradually eased.

He pulled his hand back, pausing when he reached the entrance. Methos inhaled deeply, and began to slowly let the breath out. Duncan withdrew his hand, feeling slightly saddened as it slid back into view.

Immediately, he stripped off the glove and dropped it to the floor. Then he threw himself on top of Methos, desperate for contact. Methos' arms wrapped him, and they clung together.

The desperation eased after a few moments, and Duncan shifted downward so that his head was resting on Methos' shoulder. Methos pulled the sides of the duvet over them both, creating a perfect cocoon.

"Thank you," Methos said quietly.

"No." Duncan raised his head to look down at the man beneath him. "Thank you."

"I'll say 'you're welcome' if you will."

"You're welcome," they chorused, and burst out laughing.

"Hell of a first time," Duncan murmured when the laughter subsided.

"Yeah." Methos was resting his cheek against Duncan's hair.

"Next time would you mind if I inserted something smaller?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"My cock."

"I don't know; how much smaller is it?" Methos didn't wait for an answer. "I'd like that, Duncan."

"I like it when you say my name. I think that's why I never made a pass at you, you know. I was afraid you'd call me MacLeod the entire time."

"Yes, MacLeod, there, that's it, MacLeod…oh, yes."

"Something like that."

"Interesting fear."

"Aren't they all?"

"I suppose they are. So, what else are you afraid of?"

"Death. Not my own. Other people's."

"Perfectly reasonable."

"What do you fear, Methos?"

"You."

"Me? I'd never hurt you."

"I know, and that's why I fear you."

It made sense, Duncan supposed, in a bizarre, Methos kind of way. He snuggled more deeply against the body beneath him. The intense intimacy had faded; they'd both needed it to fade, and it had left this wonderful sense of warmth and safety in its wake. "Why did you ask me to do this, if you feared me?"

"It's good to face one's fears from time to time. Personal growth, and all that."

"Are we gonna grow together, Methos?"

"Is that what you want?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Me, too."

"So it's settled?"

"As settled as these things ever are."

Duncan lifted his head once again. "Are there any more things you've never done before?"

"I don't know. Probably. I'd have to think about it." Methos smiled affectionately. "Wanting to explore the world of kink, are you?"

"Not necessarily. I just like the idea of exploring with you."

"I'm sure we'll be able to find something. Besides, we still have all of those things we haven't done together yet."

"True. Only we would start with the kink, and then have to work our way backwards to the mutual hand jobs and sixty-nines."

"And the frottage. I like frottage."

"With or without lubricant?"

"Both. How about you? What do you like doing with other men?"

"Pretty much everything. I'm very sensual, you know." Methos chuckled, and Duncan continued. "But I have to admit that I'm looking forward to giving you a nice, serious blow-job."

"A serious blow-job."

"Yup. One where I can really concentrate on what I'm doing."

"An expert, are you?"

"You'll see."

"I look forward to it."

Duncan answered him with a gentle kiss. "You want to shower?"

"Not yet. I'm not quite ready to move."

Duncan smiled, and kissed him again, before returning his head to Methos' shoulder. He could hear, and feel, Methos' heart beneath his cheek. The rhythm was different now, but it was just as sweet to feel it from this side. He nuzzled closer.

"Duncan, why did you say yes?" Methos asked softly.

"You're my friend, and you asked."


End file.
